


watched it begin again

by elizaham8957



Series: Twelve Days of Stydia Christmas 2017 [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, JUST LIKE THE SONG because I'm trash, Missing Scene, it occured to me while writing this that Lydia never had a best friend at Christmas before this, lydia and stiles find their way back to each other, post 3b but pre season 4, so as a result this got way too long, someone stop me why does this fictional couple still make me so emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:43:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: Lydia hadn’t initially realized how expensive having friends was.That made it sound like she hadn’t had friends before. Which, she guessed, she hadn’t really. Not like she did now. But last year, there hadn’t been anyone in her life that she felt particularly motivated to buy Christmas presents for.Since then, she’d been branded the town lunatic, had lost contact with pretty much everyone she had been friends with back then, and acquired supernatural abilities that still scared her beyond reason. But she’d also gotten something else out of that deal— friends. Real, honest to god friends. And Scott, Stiles, Isaac, Kira,Allison— they might just be worth everything else.





	watched it begin again

**Author's Note:**

> Happy fourth day of Stydia Christmas! It was after writing this one that I came to the realization that there was NO WAY I would be able to keep all these fics to around 1.5k. I just love rambling way too much.
> 
> This takes place between seasons 3b and 4, and I'm assuming there's a Christmas in there somewhere? I know 3b starts at Halloween, and lacrosse is happening again in 4, and that's a second semester sport, so... we're just going with it, okay? The Teen Wolf timeline is so incoherent that I feel like I can claim poetic license if I'm wrong. 
> 
> That being said, I hope you like this! :)

Lydia hadn’t initially realized how  _ expensive  _ having friends was. 

That made it sound like she hadn’t had friends before. Which, she guessed, she hadn’t  _ really.  _ Not like she did now. But last year, there hadn’t been anyone in her life that she felt particularly motivated to buy Christmas presents for. 

Since then, she’d been branded the town lunatic, had lost contact with pretty much everyone she had been friends with back then, and acquired supernatural abilities that still scared her beyond reason. But she’d also gotten something else out of that deal—  _ friends.  _ Real, honest to god friends. And Scott, Stiles, Isaac, Kira— they might just be worth everything else. 

And  _ Allison.  _ God, Allison had been worth it  _ all.  _

It had been over a month, and Lydia still wasn’t completely healed. She didn’t really think she ever would be. The shock and pain of Allison’s death was still fresh and raw. She still had the Christmas present she’d bought for her, wrapped and sitting on her desk, because she’d gotten it back in September. She’d known back then that it was  _ way  _ too early to start thinking about Christmas, but Lydia had just been so excited to have a best friend to buy a present  _ for  _ that she couldn’t resist. 

If only she had known then how little time they had left. 

But still— there were presents she needed to get for Scott, and Kira, even Malia, now, and she had to send something to Isaac and Mr. Argent in France, and get something for her own mother, plus probably for Mrs. McCall and the Sheriff, just for putting up with their constant supernatural catastrophes—

And Stiles. She could never forget about Stiles. 

Even if it seemed like he would rather forget about her. 

Regardless, there was suddenly much more gift giving to do than Lydia had initially expected, and it had dawned on her that she didn’t exactly have the funds to support that. Ever since the divorce, her mom had been much tighter with money, because the sudden loss of her dad’s income, with the addition of all the legal fees, had hit them much harder than expected. Lydia’s mom was going back to teaching, picking up more substitute shifts, and apparently they were even considering putting her grandma’s old lake house on the market, but the problem still remained that it was Christmas time  _ now,  _ and her old source of income (i.e. her father’s credit card, fixed with a very persuasive and slightly-guilt-trippy argument) had dried up. 

Determined to actually celebrate this Christmas with her new friends, Lydia had decided to get a job.

It made sense, really. She needed the money, and she needed the distraction. It wasn’t like her homework was ever difficult enough to hold her attention for more than an hour or two after school. And the tiny, family-owned bookshop in the next town over let her do her homework while she manned the register, as long as there were no customers around. 

Lydia liked working at the bookshop. It was surprisingly calming, the scent of old paper and ink more comforting than she would have thought. The shop was small, old fashioned, completely family owned, and the people who came in were always friendly, asking for her latest recommendations. Lydia spent a lot of time among the shelves, lost in old, antique volumes that looked like they hadn’t been read in hundreds of years, and when she was done restocking at night, she got to curl up in one of the big armchairs and read until they closed, only pausing to help the occasional customer. It was barely work, really— she enjoyed doing it, and she basically got paid to read. 

And it helped her keep her mind busy, and off of Allison. 

Today, though, she wasn’t reading. Instead, she stood at the register, poring over her list of Christmas presents to buy with her paycheck on Friday in between rushes of customers. 

She stared at the list, scanning it up and down again. She’d already gotten presents for Scott and Kira, and she still didn’t really  _ know  _ Malia, so she’d get her something small and impersonal, seeing as she would still be at Scott’s pack Christmas party. Mr. Argent and Isaac’s presents had been shipped out last week (which had taken up a considerable amount of her last paycheck, because she had never realized how expensive it was to ship to other countries). She had general ideas for Melissa and the Sheriff, and she had a sweater all picked out for her mom that she would get after work on Friday— it was probably way too expensive, but she didn’t have to get her dad a present this year, as he’d called her the other day to offer a rushed happy holidays and inform her he would be out of town for Christmas, and that she could just pick out something she wanted and charge it to his credit card. She had bought herself an adorable pair of boots, choosing to splurge on overnight shipping as well, but decided that she was mad enough at her father to  _ not  _ get him something in return. 

All that left was Stiles. 

She had  _ no  _ idea what to get him, to be honest. He’d been distant from her, lately, that easy friendship they’d had at the beginning of the school year having dissipated like smoke. She wondered, during her downtime here, whose fault it was. Was it because he was still wracked with guilt over the nogitsune, and he thought seeing him would remind her of who killed her best friend? Or was it because Lydia had been too obvious, had revealed too much of herself inside his head and after they had won the battle, and he knew how she felt about him?

_ Definitely not,  _ Lydia’s mind rebutted.  _ You don’t even know what you feel about him.  _

Lydia couldn’t argue with that. After the panic that had flooded her system the night Stiles called Scott when he was missing, the relief racing through her when he had opened his eyes after the nogitsune had been defeated, the feeling of his arms around her, his heart beating against her skin as she ran into his embrace, his hands so big on her back, fingers weaving through her hair and holding her close— after she had sworn up and down to herself that kissing him on the locker room floor was nothing personal, just a tactic to pull him out of his panic attack— she was starting to believe herself less and less. Because she  _ did  _ feel something for Stiles. She wasn’t sure exactly what, yet, but he’d somehow morphed from that goofy kid with a horrible buzz cut and an obsessive crush to one of her best friends. And now she had these feelings for him— she wasn’t sure exactly what they were, or what they meant, because she had never been particularly good at feelings. But she knew that whatever they were— they had shifted after she kissed him. In that moment, it seemed like everything had changed. Like she’d opened her eyes and the sun had come out, casting soft light on the boy in front of her that meant so much more to her than what she let on. 

They’d all needed to heal from the events of the past months differently, and if Stiles needed to avoid Lydia to get that done, then so be it. She would admit that not seeing him hurt, but honestly, all she really wanted was for him to be better again. 

It had been so long since she’d seen him look at peace. 

The door jingled as another customer walked into the shop, and Lydia looked up from her list, her automatic greeting on the tip of her tongue when her breath caught, realizing who had just walked into the store.

It was Stiles. 

He sighed as the warm air from the shop washed over him, closing the door behind him to keep the heat in. He looked good, Lydia noticed— she only saw him briefly at school, when he was there, and most of that time he was just with Scott, blocking out the rest of the world. But the shadows under his eyes were so much fainter, his hair cut to a normal length again, and he just looked  _ healthier,  _ like some of the life he’d lost when he was possessed had finally found its way back to him. 

His eyes flitted from shelf to shelf, finally resting on the counter she was behind, eyes going wide in recognition. 

“Lydia?” Stiles said, and his voice was fuller, more full of life again. Not shallow and scratchy and unsteady. “What are you doing here?” he asked, taking a couple steps towards her, walking right up to the register.

“I work here,” Lydia said, trying to keep the flush out of her cheeks, because she hadn’t told her friends she had a job now. 

“Really?” Stiles said, but his voice wasn’t accusatory. More curious. “I didn’t know that. Since when?”

“About a month ago,” Lydia told him, voice quieter, and she could tell by the way his cheeks paled that he could put together the timeline, figuring out exactly why she had started working here.

“Holiday shopping is suddenly a lot more expensive when you have an entire pack to shop for,” she offered, trying to distract him. Because she had missed that easy, comfortable air to his expression, and she wanted it back. She didn’t want to send him spiraling again. 

Stiles laughed at that. “I know, right? I don’t know why we don’t just do a Secret Santa or something. It would be way cheaper.” 

“Next year, I’m pushing for that,” she added, smiling slightly at him. Stiles just grinned in response, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. 

“So, can I help you find something?” Lydia asked, remembering that Stiles must have come here for a purpose other than seeing her. 

“Oh, um,” Stiles said, glancing away. “This is actually super awkward, because I was here to get your Christmas present. I checked online, and the website said you guys have it.”

“Oh,” Lydia said, blinking in shock. “Well, Sarah’s on her break right now, but she should be back in about ten minutes, and she can help you, if you need it. We’re the only two working,” Lydia offered, apologetic. 

“No, that’s fine,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “I can hang out ten minutes. I’ve got nowhere to be,” he finished, smiling slightly at her. She grinned back, small and hesitant.

“So,” Stiles said, breaking the silence between them. “What do you do here?” 

“Read, mostly,” Lydia told him. “It’s great. It barely feels like I’m working.” 

“You get paid to  _ read?”  _ Stiles asked. “You must be in heaven.”

“It is very nice,” Lydia agreed, nodding. “And the customers love hearing my recommendations, seeing as I’ve read about half the store at this point.” 

“That does not surprise me at all,” Stiles said, almost laughing. Lydia froze a little bit, taken aback by the light in his eyes, the carefree nature of his expression. He looked more like his old self than Lydia had seen in  _ months.  _

“How many of the books are in archaic latin?” Stiles asked, and Lydia regained her composure, smiling.

“A disappointingly small number,” she said, shaking her head. “It seems like I’m the only one that can read those.” 

“Probably because you’re the only one in this town who knows archaic latin,” Stiles supplied. “Being Beacon Hills’ resident genius, and all.” 

“Guilty as charged,” she replied, still not over how nice it felt to  _ admit  _ to her intelligence. After years and years of hiding it, shoving tests in her bag before her peers could see her scores, biting back answers to every question, it was refreshing and wonderful to talk about how smart she was publicly. And really, it was because of Stiles— because he had seen her when no one else had, realized how smart she was without ever having to be told. 

“So,” he said, leaning against the counter casually. “You ready for Scott’s Christmas party this weekend?” 

Lydia raised her eyebrows at him. “How serious is he about the ‘ugly sweaters are mandatory’ part of the invitation?” 

“Oh, deadly serious,” Stiles said, nodding grimly. “He’s  _ crazy  _ excited about this. He made me help him buy hors d'oeuvres, and pick Christmas movies, and he got a bunch of champagne, which I still don’t really get because he and Kira and Malia can’t get drunk— hold on a minute,” Stiles said, pausing, eyes wide. “You’re a supernatural creature. Can  _ you  _ get drunk?” 

Lydia snorted, thinking back to the bottle of whiskey she’d downed after Allison’s funeral.  _ “Very  _ much so.” 

“Okay, then the champagne is all for us,” he said, that easy grin back, and he raised his hand for a high five. Lydia gave him one, her heart speeding up at the brief contact of their palms. 

“But seriously,” Stiles continued. “He’s really excited. I personally think it’s all an elaborate scheme to convince Kira he’s way cooler than he really is, but all our previous Christmas parties consisted of the two of us getting drunk in my basement while we watched ABC’s 25 Days of Christmas, so I think he’s just excited that we actually have people to  _ invite  _ this year.” 

Lydia smiled at that, because she understood the feeling. In previous years, she would probably go to Danny’s party and hang off of Jackson’s arm all night in a dress that was uncomfortably short while she got drunk off cheap alcohol. And if you had told freshman-year-Lydia— or even sophomore-year-Lydia, really— about her current Christmas plans, her younger self probably would have scoffed at how lame it sounded. But Lydia wasn’t that same girl anymore, and the thought of spending a night with people she actually cared about, and who cared about  _ her,  _ who knew the real her and truly wanted her to be there— nothing sounded better than that. 

“Well, you can tell Scott not to worry,” Lydia said, smirking. “Kira’s already head over heels for him, regardless of how cool he seems.” 

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Stiles said, shrugging, and Lydia was caught in his eyes, the shine that she’d missed so much having returned to his amber irises. “But he still doesn’t believe me.” 

Lydia laughed, again just reveling in the casual nature of this conversation, the return of that ease she and Stiles had once had in their interactions. He seemed less distant right now, and Lydia was so glad to see that he was healing, both physically and mentally. His eyes were brighter than they’d been since Halloween, the bags beneath them a distant memory, and his figure was more filled out again, not as gaunt and pale. He didn’t look like a shadow of himself anymore— this boy in front of her was  _ Stiles: _ the boy who believed in her, who stood by her, who fought for her. The boy who had seen who she really was, the boy who had befriended her, who had proved over and over again that she was important— not just to him, but to everyone. 

The boy she was slowly but surely falling in love with. 

Lydia jumped at the sound of the door opening again, as Sarah walked back inside, coffee in hand. She gave Lydia a quizzical look, regarding her coworker and Stiles at the counter, but she didn’t say anything, just rounded the corner of the register. 

“Sarah,” Lydia said, glancing back at Stiles briefly, her heart hammering at that small, private smile on his face as he regarded her. 

“Do you mind helping Stiles find a book?” Lydia said. “I have to go check the inventory that just came in.” 

“Sure,” Sarah said, her expression still a little puzzled, but she didn’t raise any questions. 

“Thank you,” Lydia said gratefully, glancing back towards the boy in front of her. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” she offered Stiles, smiling hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, and his expression mirrored hers, eyes still so light. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lydia turned, opening the door to the stock room, and as it swung closed she could just make out Sarah’s voice asking, “So what were you looking for?” 

There were actually books Lydia had to stock, so once she heard the register beep with Stiles’s purchase and the doorbells chime again, she headed back into the shop, a box of books balanced precariously on her hip. 

“You need a hand with that?” Sarah asked, helping Lydia guide the box onto the counter.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling at her coworker. “Do you mind covering the register while I shelve these?” 

“No, not at all,” Sarah said, shaking her head. Lydia hesitated, a question on the tip of her tongue, but she knew she shouldn’t ask it. Still, the suspense was killing her— she had to know. 

“Hey, Sarah,” she started, keeping her tone casual. “The guy that was just in here that you rang out?” She paused, looking at the other girl. “What did he buy?”

Sarah made a face. “Uh, something about Einstein’s theory of special relativity? I don’t know, it looked awful. He must have needed it for a school project or something, although I don’t know why he would have  _ bought  _ it.” She frowned, regarding Lydia again. “Why?”

Lydia shook her head, trying to keep her heartbeat under control, and ignore the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She’d had her eye on that book for  _ weeks.  _ “No reason,” she said, probably too quickly. “Just curious.” She grabbed the box of books off the counter, shifting her weight to support them. “I’ll be in nonfiction if you need me, okay?” 

“Sure,” Sarah said, already turning back to the homework she’d spread out next to the register. 

Lydia fought to keep the little smile off her face as she shelved books, but she found she couldn’t— not now, knowing what Stiles had gotten her for Christmas. It made her heart flutter a little, and she couldn’t help thinking that maybe things would go back to normal between them. Like how they had been today. Lydia hadn’t realized exactly how much she had missed his presence in her life until he was there again. 

Lydia paused in her shelving, one book down the row catching her eye. The spine was a mix of royal blue and bright orange, the complimentary colors prominent next to the black, grey, and brown spines of the nonfiction section. Curiously, she approached it, running her fingers over the spine as words from a different lifetime rang through her head. 

_ Orange and blue? Not a good combination.  _

_ Sometimes there’s other things you wouldn’t think would be a good combination, end up turning out to be, like, a perfect combination.  _

She tugged the book from the shelf, her lips curling up into a smile as she read the title:  _ A Complete History of the New York Mets.  _ Gently, she leafed through the pages, glancing at the photos all the way back from the the 60’s to now, complete with news articles, profiles on the players, and glossy photos of Citi Field. Grinning, she placed the book back on the shelf, before heading to the back room to grab her wallet, completely forgetting about the box of books she was supposed to be shelving right now. 

She knew  _ exactly  _ what she was getting Stiles for Christmas. 


End file.
